


Two Times Abby and Marcus Were Locked in a Cell Together

by mos



Category: The 100 (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mos/pseuds/mos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SMUT AHOY</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Times Abby and Marcus Were Locked in a Cell Together

THE ARK

"Come to gloat?"

Marcus Kane was alone and unarmed, and despite that being an indicator of something resembling peace, Abby couldn't help but sneer at him. As the door shut behind him, she turned her sneer to an all-out glare of contempt, because her imprisonment couldn't result in anything other than death, and before he ejected her from an airlock she was going to make his life as much a living hell as she could. What did she have to lose, after all?

"I trust that you're comfortable?" he inquired. She hated the way he carefully arranged his face, hiding behind a mask of determination and duty and anger. She knew it was a defence mechanism, that he was compartmentalizing his emotions in order to do what he thought needed to be done to save the Ark, but she hated it all the same.

"Quite," she snapped. "What do you want, Kane?"

He took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Abby, what you did was reckless and completely-"

"I know. You finally get to float me, so congrats. Now go away."

For a long moment he looked at her, as if contemplating whether to step forward and strangle her or not. That look she liked. It meant she was winning.

"Perhaps I should start again," he said. "I was hoping that you'd be able to provide a witness statement against Nygel."

"Have you heard from Raven?"

"No." She could almost sense the irritation rolling off him. "Can you confirm that Nygel took morphine from you in exchange for a pressure regulator?"

She laughed in his face. "Why should I do you any favours?"

"I need a statement in order to press charges."

She moved toward him, stopping just inside his personal space because she knew it would annoy him and he'd stand his ground anyway. Tipping her head up, she met his gaze. "I'm afraid I can't help you there, Kane."

He looked down at her as if he'd expected such an answer. Irritation was there, certainly, but something else as well... amusement? He wasn't so good at compartmentalizing after all, then. She wondered how far she could push him, how much it would take to break him wide open.

"I find it very sad that it's come to this," she said, noting the way his eyes dropped down to her lips briefly as she spoke. "You didn't used to be like this."

"We're in a survival situation, Abby."

"We've always been in a survival situation, Kane. What was it you used to say?"

"Stop talking."

She watched the crack form in his facade and took great pleasure in it. "I'm not one of your guardsmen, so don't give me orders. And I believe your exact words were that the only purpose of the transitional generations was to fuck. You never had kids, though, so I guess you just meant fuck everyone over."

She'd pissed him off, and couldn't hold back the tiniest of smiles as his eyes blazed with anger. The one thing about knowing him for life was that she knew all his secrets, too. She knew about every last one of his lovers and girlfriends, and she knew that he was ashamed that he'd never fulfilled his duty and had children. Exploiting that knowledge in order to make him angry was a terrible thing to do, but he'd already betrayed their friendship by trying to float her once, and he was about to do it again.

He grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her forward, his face inches from hers. "What are you trying to do here, Abby?"

"Oh I'm sorry. Am I not acting like myself? Now you know how it feels, _Kane_."

"Stop calling me that."

"So it does bother you. Good."

The facade cracked a little more. His eyes fell to her lips again. That, at least, had never changed. Attraction was a funny thing. The animosity between them in the last year had enhanced rather than eliminated it. Maybe that was a part of her anger towards him too: that even while every part of her mind disagreed with his tactics, every part of her body still sang and begged to be touched by his. His proximity now was intoxicating, and though she'd long since learned to hide it well, she wasn't willing to step out of the danger zone. Not yet.

"You're damn right it bothers me," he said, voice lower now. The doctor in her noted that his breathing had picked up. "I'll ask you again: what is it you're trying to do here?"

In response she reached up with her free hand and messed up his perfectly combed hair. He looked so stunned that she almost laughed out loud.

"I'm trying to mess you up," she snapped.

His face moved closer to hers. "Well, you're doing it wrong."

"Am I?" Her own breathing was coming heavier now. She was losing control, but what did it matter? In all likelihood she was going to die in the morning. "Tell me you're not thinking about fucking me right now."

Silence. There was shock, but only because he'd never expected her to call him on it. His gaze darkened, becoming more intense, and she knew she had won. The facade was gone, replaced by blatant lust. She saw the thoughts move across his face, his eyes roaming to her mouth again, his hand tightening on her arm. She made the decision easy for him. Twisting her hand in his hair, she wrenched his head down and pressed her mouth to his. There was no hesitation in him as he kissed her, tongue thrusting into her mouth as her lips parted beneath his. It was as good as she'd always thought it would be, hot and hard, loaded with the promise of sweaty release.

His hands had gone to her waist, his fingers digging into the skin through her shirt. She moaned, felt him growl in response, raked her fingers down the back of his neck.

He spun her around, trapping her against his body with one arm securely wrapped around her waist. His voice was low in her ear. "If you wanted me to do this, you only had to ask," he breathed. "Face the wall, prisoner."

She wanted it so badly that she did exactly what he said. For a moment she thought he'd leave her like that, hands braced on the wall, back to him, body screaming to be filled. Hands came around her waist, though, gliding down and unclasping her pants. One arm wrapped around her waist, his body flush with hers, while the other dove into her underwear, stroking her and moving lower. She tried to buck against him as he slid two fingers inside her, but he had her pinned there. She could feel the hardness of him against her backside.

"I'd have enjoyed our disagreements a lot more if I knew they were making you like this," he breathed, fingers slowly stroking her.

"Oh, fuck," she hissed. Reaching back with one hand, she tried to find the clasp of his pants, but couldn't reach.

"Why don't you ask nicely?" he whispered.

"You're an asshole," she whimpered, biting back a cry as his fingers worked her some more.

"And you're a pain in the neck. Ask me, Abby."

Biting her lip, she whimpered again. His breathing was unsteady, quickly turning to pants. She could shut everything down right now, send him away, but it would have been the worst betrayal yet. For once they were in agreement about something.

"Please," she moaned.

His hand withdrew, and a moments later he was pushing her pants and underwear down. Briefly withdrawing, she heard him undo his own, and then his hands were pulling her hips back, and she was arching her back and whispering please again. All the air left her lungs in a rush when he teased the tip of his cock along her folds and then finally pushed inside, so slowly that she wanted to scream.

He was cursing under his breath, panting as he seated himself, fingernails digging into her hips.

She should have expected that he'd make her work for it. He was a bastard, stilling as soon as he was fully inside her, making her shove herself backwards against him, fucking herself on his hard shaft, unable to do it fast enough to get to the brink. She'd never hated him more than in that moment.

"You're going to make me do this?" she panted, biting her lip as she slammed her hips back against his. God, he filled her so well, felt so goddamned good...

"Just enjoying the view," he said, and snapped his hips forward to meet hers. A cry escaped her.

Now it was her turn to curse as he really began thrusting into her, skin slapping rhythmically against hers. She clung to the wall, nails scraping the surface, biting her lip to keep from crying out but small sounds escaping her anyway. He was burning her from the inside out, the sensations like coals stoked into flames each time their bodies moved together. She was dripping, wound tighter and tighter with each thrust, the spring of release promising to shake her to the core.

"Tell me," he said, between pants, "tell me when you're getting close."

"Harder," she gasped, a cry escaping her. "Oh, faster. Yes."

He obeyed her, and they finally found equal ground in sex.

"Abby-" His voice was strained.

"Almost –yes," her body began to quiver as the orgasm approached. "I'm-"

The rush of release shook through her, a long cry escaping her despite her attempts to stop it. She heard him groan as he followed her, one, two, three thrusts and then spilling his seed inside her. He was the only thing keeping her upright, her knees threatening to give way, his hands still clasping her hips tight against his. The mood changed as their breathing slowed. His hands loosened their grip, and then he stepped back, slipping out of her. She wobbled and then straightened, his seed seeping from her as she pulled up her pants. A part of her didn't want to turn around.

She'd never felt so well and wholly screwed in her entire life, both literally and figuratively.

"Abby, look at me," he said.

She turned. His clothes looked just as put together as they had when he'd come in. The colour in his face gave him away, though, and his hair was still messed up. It wasn't so bad, meeting his gaze. There should have been shame, but there wasn't, only the desire for more. The sex had taken something from them, stripped some barricade down from between them.

She wondered if he'd regret floating her, if it would haunt him forever, or if he'd simply forget.

"That was a mistake," she said, for despite the lack of shame and her imminent death, the situation was completely problematic. What the hell was she thinking, having sex with Marcus Kane? Still, she couldn't bring herself to regret it, for all the problems that in itself presented.

"No it wasn't," he replied. He held her gaze for a moment before turning and heading for the door. "I'll speak to the council on your behalf."

"I didn't fuck you for favours, Kane," she snapped, the anger at once returning.

He turned back to her as he rapped on the door. "I know that. This is because I respect you."

He still respected her after screwing her against a wall in lockup. She was speechless. Giving her a nod, he walked out, and she was left contemplating the closed door, already knowing that if by some fluke she lived beyond tomorrow, it would happen again someday.

 

*

 

THE GROUND

When Marcus looked up and saw Abby being manhandled down the hallway toward his cell, his heart gave a lurch, not because the guard was gripping her arm too hard and unnecessarily jerking her around, but because she had _that_ look on her face. He knew that look. That stubborn, defiant, completely unreasonable look. It meant nothing good.

"Hey!" he said sharply, as she was thrown into his cell so hard that she fell to hands and knees. The guard ignored him and walked away, and he was already crossing the narrow room to her, helping her to her feet. Like she needed his help.

She brushed herself off and raised her eyes to his.

"What did you do?" he asked.

"Drugged him," she replied evenly.

"Pike?"

She nodded, and brushed by him to sit on the bench along the back wall. He could feel exasperation rising in him and tried to shove it away, because when Abby decided that she was going to do something, she was completely and utterly unstoppable. Reasoning with her was a lost cause, as was arguing with her. He knew that. So-

"Now we're both in here," he said. _Way to go, Abby._

"That's right," she replied evenly. "And when you see what I have in my pants, you're going to be happy about it."

Several things happened as his brain absorbed her words. One, they had an instant effect on his lower regions as a certain memory of another cell resurfaced. Two, he couldn't believe that she'd actually said them. Three, there was instant doubt that she was actually coming into him, and finally, he was left with a painful sort of hope that he hated with every fibre of his being.

Because he was in love with Abby.

And he was convinced that it was the worst thing to ever happen to him, because he simply could not be in love with her. _Could not_. At least, that's what he'd told himself, when those bothersome feelings had become impossible to ignore. He'd eventually come to a stupid sort of compromise with himself: he could be in love with her, but he had to keep it to himself, because he wasn't taking any chances with his feelings being reciprocated. Not because he didn't want it, but because he'd seen firsthand what Abby was willing to do for those she loved, and he didn't want anyone sacrificing themselves for him.

"Is there a problem?" she asked coolly.

_Yes. Marry me and have my children._

_Shut the fuck up, Marcus. Jesus._

He realized he was staring, and pulled himself back to the present. "This isn't what we discussed."

She got up from the bench and walked over to him, stopping inside his personal space and grabbing his hand. They could have been having a lover's reunion to anyone watching. As she pressed his hand just to the left of her crotch, he struggled to prevent his brain from short-circuiting altogether, because he desperately wanted to move it a little to the side and touch her, and... well... fuck.

"Feel that?" she whispered, eyes on his. Amused. Playing along, he skimmed his fingers along the fabric of her jeans and found a hard protuberance there. The woman had a key in her pants. A cell key.

God, he loved her.

"Nice," he said huskily, withdrawing his hand.

"What did you think I meant?"

He shook his head, unwilling to acknowledge that she was sending all the right signals, and hadn't he already known that? Hadn't she been sending them for months now? Surely making a move on Abby Griffin was not the most difficult thing in the world. Except it was, because it just... mattered so much, now that there were feelings involved.

"They wouldn't let me see you," she said. "I had to do something."

"And if we do get out of here, then what?" He kept his voice low. "We'll never get past the guards."

"Raven did some repairs on a ventilation shaft last week," she replied. "All we have to do is wait for the night guard to fall asleep."

"I see."

Silence fell between them, and he knew he was gazing at her again.

"So are you going to kiss me, or do I have to make a giant sign and stick it to my forehead?"

Thoughts fell in rapid succession in his mind, culminating in a joyous _fuck it_ , and then he was giving in, giving her what she wanted, and whatever wall he'd firmly placed between them came crashing down in the moment when their lips met.

Kissing Abby was a mistake, and he realized it when one of her hands was in her hair, while the other was clutching at his back like she wanted to tear away the veil hiding his thoughts. Kissing Abby was a mistake because it would never, ever be enough, not with the possibilities now between them, not when she was moaning low in the back of her throat, the sound desperate, needy, wanting, and not when he had his arms around her and wanted to keep them there forever.

They rested their foreheads against each other afterward, breathing heavily, and until that moment he hadn't thought it possible to die of love. But it was, because loving her was so painfully overwhelming that he thought it entirely possible that it could do him in.

"Please," he found himself whispering, though he wasn't sure what he was asking. "Please."

"At first I didn't want to ruin the relationship we had," she said softly. "But then when I realized that you loved me, there was nothing to ruin, because it was already ruined, because I loved you, too."

The lights went out, and for a moment everything was black. They went out every night, but after weeks in the cell, time ceased to exist, and he only knew that night had come when the lights went out. In a way it was comforting, like being on the Ark again.

The bench wasn't wide enough for the both of them to sleep on, so they made a bed on the floor, one blanket to lay on and the other to pull over them. It got cold at night, and they settled down facing each other, his arm a pillow for her head, his other one holding her close. She tucked herself up against him, reaching up to touch his face in the dark. He'd never been able to tell if she liked his beard or not, but he couldn't help a smile as she stroked it now, tugging a little on the ends.

"Do you remember the last time we were in a cell together?" she whispered.

He barely bit back a groan. Of course she would go there. It had been like a fire on a sea of ice, and the memory had stayed with him for a long time afterward, replaying in his mind in the dead of night, and sometimes at the most inopportune moments. It was a world away now, though, that cell and the person he had been. He was good at compartmentalizing, but just because he was good at it didn't mean that he had to do it, and he didn't anymore. The memory seemed cold now, somehow.

"I remember," he replied.

She kissed him, and he forgot everything, forgot that there was a guard somewhere down the hall and others in the cells nearby. The urgency was only in savouring every touch, in feeling her shiver as he skimmed his hands up her ribcage and cupped her breasts, her own hands running over his own chest and around to his back, her fingernails gently raking him there. Maybe it was the dark that made every touch seem electric, or maybe it had always been there between them.

They disposed of their clothes, and he savoured the sensation of skin on skin, of the warmth and feel of her beneath him. He began to kiss his way down her body, every small, quiet gasp that escaped her a reward for him, every touch of his lips a form of worship. She covered her mouth with her hand when he went to work between her legs, but even so every muffled cry and tortured moan that escaped set him ablaze, made him want more, and more, and more.

She'd never know that he smiled against her as she came, shaking and shuddering and gasping. Still he wanted more, and so did she, tugging at his hair to draw him back up her body, wrapping her legs around him and whispering _please_. Their lips came together again as he slid into her, and he muffled his own cries in her kiss as he made love to her, this beautiful woman that held his fragile heart in her hands. Abby.

With every stroke she gasped, her body moving with his, her legs tightening around him, urging him deeper, faster. He obliged her, for he would do anything, anything at all that she wanted, forever if necessary.

They found release together, shuddering and shaking, and she held him to her afterwards, arms around him, whispering for him to stay inside her just a little longer. He kissed her again, because he could do that now anytime he liked, and he couldn't get enough.

"If we had to stay right here," she whispered after awhile, her hands stroking his hair, "it wouldn't be so bad."

"No," he murmured, brushing his lips against her collarbone. "The next time we do this, I don't want it to be in a jail cell."

She sighed as she drew him up for another kiss. "So let's get out of here, then."

**Author's Note:**

> So... I wrote the first part of this months ago to practice my smut writing skills and never was quite ready to put it up. Then the kiss happened, and I got the idea for the second part, and I liked the idea of how the two parts would contrast, both style-wise and relationship-wise. I don't feel like I'm that good at writing smut but I'm doing the brave thing and putting it up anyway.


End file.
